


I will not harangue my fellow detective

by sageness



Category: due South
Genre: Canon - TV, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-13
Updated: 2006-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-03 03:39:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sageness/pseuds/sageness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They still shouldered and poked and shoved, though. Nothing like all the hugs and pats on the back they'd done when Fraser was here. This was like jockeying for position or something, except with Fraser gone there wasn't anything left for them to win.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I will not harangue my fellow detective

Frannie looked up from her computer, watching her brother and Kowalski from across the squadroom. It was so weird having them both at the 27th together. It was so weird that Fraser was gone.

Kowalski jostled Ray and Ray thwapped him with a folded newspaper. Kowalski threw a pen at him and soon they were shouting about nuns and rulers and writing "I will not harangue my fellow detective" on the chalkboard one hundred times.

"Detectives!" Welsh shouted from his office doorway before going back in.

Frannie watched them quiet down. They still shouldered and poked and shoved, though. Nothing like all the hugs and pats on the back they'd done when Fraser was here. This was like jockeying for position or something, except with Fraser gone there wasn't anything left for them to win.

"Dammit, Vecchio!"

"Fine!" Ray stood up, checking his holster. "I'll talk to the costume department, you do the transportation guys, and then—"

"I told you it's gotta be the violinist!" Kowalski said, moving past him.

"Why the hell would the violinist be opposed to orange taffeta?"

"Why *wouldn't* the violinist be opposed to orange taffeta?" Kowalski said, staring back at him.

Frannie was about to interject something about how impossible it was to find a wearable shade of orange, not that she herself had any particular occasion to wear taffeta anymore, when she caught the glittering look in her brother's eyes and choked on her coffee.

A minute later, she deleted the four paragraphs of text on the screen and re-started her weekly letter to Fraser.


End file.
